The Therapist

She stabs a light post with a nail again forever for a time
The edges of her tangled hair looking up to the sky
A madwoman clinging to a self set on repeat
Her torso clad with random things we care not for
Trash from the clinically sane turned into treasure

She turns to give her loudest eyes to me, a banshee’s cry
Walks away with a cheater’s smile
Did something die inside her or is she more alive
What does she know that I don’t, what secrets does she hold that we fear to explore
For only the dead and the insane had touched the unknown